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Luminarium
This Los Angeles Times Book Prize–winning novel is a “dizzyingly smart and provocative” look at technology, spirituality, and the search for meaning (Dave Eggers). A Washington Post Notable Book of the Year Named a Best Book of the Year by Publishers Weekly, Booklist, Austin Chronicle, and Kansas City Star Twin brothers Fred and George Brounian were once co-CEOs of a New York City software company devoted to the creation of utopian virtual worlds. Now, as two wars rage and the fifth anniversary of 9/11 approaches, George is in a coma; control of the company has been wrenched away by a military contracting conglomerate; and Fred has moved back in with his parents. Broke and alone, Fred is led by an attractive woman into a neurological study promising to give him “peak” experiences and a newfound spiritual outlook on life. But as the study progresses, reality becomes increasingly porous—and he finds himself caught up in what seems at first a cruel a series of bizarre emails and texts that purport to be from his comatose brother. Moving between the research hospitals of Manhattan, the streets of a meticulously planned Florida city, the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, and the uncanny, immersive worlds of urban disaster simulation; threading through military listserv geek-speak, Hindu cosmology, outmoded self-help books and the latest neuroscientific breakthroughs, Luminarium is a brilliant examination of the way we live now, a novel as much about the role technology and spirituality play in shaping our reality as about the undying bond between brothers, and the redemptive possibilities of love.
449 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011
70 people are currently reading
1478 people want to read
About the author
Alex Shakar
8 books25 followersShakar was born in and raised in Brooklyn, New York. He graduated from Yale University in 1990. He was a Michener Fellow at the University of Texas. Shakar attended the University of Illinois and received his Ph.D. in English and Creative Writing.
In 1996, Shakar won the National Fiction Competition and received Pick of the Year from the Independent Presses for City in Love. The Savage Girl was chosen as a New York Times Notable Book and a Book Sense Pick in 2001.
He currently resides in Chicago, Illinois and teaches fiction writing at the University of Illinois.
In 1996, Shakar won the National Fiction Competition and received Pick of the Year from the Independent Presses for City in Love. The Savage Girl was chosen as a New York Times Notable Book and a Book Sense Pick in 2001.
He currently resides in Chicago, Illinois and teaches fiction writing at the University of Illinois.
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April 13, 2012
It seems fitting that Alex Shakar would open his novel, Luminarium, with an invitation. Not your garden variety party invitation, mind you. Something a bit more oblique, less straightforward. But an invitation nonetheless.
It’s an appeal to step fully into the shoes of one Fred Brounian, a down-on-his-luck loser and ex-CEO who lives with his parents in a limbo of depression and unemployment. Fred has lost his company, his job, fiancé, and now stands to lose his twin brother, George, who is comatose and in the final stages of terminal cancer. Having lost all else, caring for George occupies most of Fred’s time and finances, leaving him both destitute and desperate.
To amend his pecuniary situation, Fred decides to participate in an experiment in which his brain will be electronically manipulated to reproduce sensations associated with states of religious ecstasy. It is at this vulnerable moment that we join Fred—or, perhaps it is more correct to say we are joined to Fred—and it is this initial experiment and its mind-expanding aftereffects that propels the ensuing narrative and palls the novel with a surreal haze.
Which brings us back to that second-person opening, our invitation. For what follows is a shift firmly into Fred’s point-of-view and an exploration of our nation’s own post-9/11 identity crisis and the increasingly blurry lines between the real and the virtual, religion and science, our flesh-and-blood selves and the electronic avatars we project into the aether. It was smart of Shakar to firmly anchor the reader to flesh and bone when the novel’s themes are so prone to drift into abstraction.
Indeed, the story is at its best when these themes bubble up organically through action and dialog. For example, this scene where Fred, still feeling the lingering aftershocks of a recent experiment and flush with confidence at the prospect of getting a job, develops an impromptu alter-ego:
The exchange speaks to the mercurial nature of identity, the slipperiness of personality, how difficult it is to ever pin someone down to one set of characteristics. Even when that someone is you.
And, as the novel progresses, Fred finds the people around him ever-shifting, transmuting from the familiar to inversions or permutations of their former selves. His brother George is sending him mysterious messages and appears to be sabotaging their former company even as he lies comatose in the hospital. Meanwhile, his younger brother, the workaholic Sam, has transformed their former company from an idealistic virtual reality paradise called Urth to a military and emergency training environment and who seems to be setting Fred up for failure and humiliation. To complicate matters, Fred’s love interest turns out to be hiding something he never anticipated.
Each of these story lines is interesting in its own way and it’s a credit to Shakar that he develops characters that are capable of surprising us (and Fred) in ways that are not initially obvious but entirely sensible in hindsight. This parade of morphing personalities brings to mind this passage from Roger Ebert’s 2003 review of Tarkovsky’s Solaris:
These questions of duality and our own frustrated attempts to drill down to the core of reality are suggested throughout the narrative. Which brings me to my few disappointments with the novel. Namely that Shakar can be a bit heavy-handed and tends to beat one over head with his motifs: in this novel alone we have twins, science and religion, magic/illusion, reality and virtual reality, twin towers, the two sides of the human brain, etc… A little of this stuff can go a long way and after a while I wanted to raise the white flag and say: “Okay! I get it already.”
Worse, however, is Shakar’s tendency to ply us with long lists of questions and saggy interior monologues in lieu of action or image. This predilection leads to plenty sloggy passages like this:
Did you get through all that? Not only is this section tedious, but it also leaves the reader feeling as though he is being led by the nose. And further, these are questions that are raised with greater economy elsewhere via action and metaphor.
Still, despite these faults, I found Luminarium to be a smart and moving read. On one hand a ghost story and meditation on post-9/11 grief. On the other, a paen to the bonds of family and the ties that bind all of humanity. The way we all move to the future while looking ever back to our past.
Picture yourself stepping into a small, cuboid room. In the center squats an old recliner, upholstered in black vinyl. To the chair’s back is affixed a jointed metal arm, possibly on loan from a desk lamp. At the end of the arm, where the bulb and shade would have gone, hangs instead a sparkly gold motorcycle helmet, a vintage, visorless number with a chin strap.
It’s an appeal to step fully into the shoes of one Fred Brounian, a down-on-his-luck loser and ex-CEO who lives with his parents in a limbo of depression and unemployment. Fred has lost his company, his job, fiancé, and now stands to lose his twin brother, George, who is comatose and in the final stages of terminal cancer. Having lost all else, caring for George occupies most of Fred’s time and finances, leaving him both destitute and desperate.
To amend his pecuniary situation, Fred decides to participate in an experiment in which his brain will be electronically manipulated to reproduce sensations associated with states of religious ecstasy. It is at this vulnerable moment that we join Fred—or, perhaps it is more correct to say we are joined to Fred—and it is this initial experiment and its mind-expanding aftereffects that propels the ensuing narrative and palls the novel with a surreal haze.
Which brings us back to that second-person opening, our invitation. For what follows is a shift firmly into Fred’s point-of-view and an exploration of our nation’s own post-9/11 identity crisis and the increasingly blurry lines between the real and the virtual, religion and science, our flesh-and-blood selves and the electronic avatars we project into the aether. It was smart of Shakar to firmly anchor the reader to flesh and bone when the novel’s themes are so prone to drift into abstraction.
Indeed, the story is at its best when these themes bubble up organically through action and dialog. For example, this scene where Fred, still feeling the lingering aftershocks of a recent experiment and flush with confidence at the prospect of getting a job, develops an impromptu alter-ego:
He thought he’d said Fred. Or that’s what he’d meant to say. Or maybe he’d meant, Oh, call me Fred. He was already nodding before he processed that final o. Beyond humiliated, pretty much giving up at that point, he just kept nodding, resigned to the secretary calling him by a name that could have belonged to some hobbit mob henchman.
“OK,” she said, to his wonderment, without apparent sarcasm, “Freddo.” Coming from her slyly smiling lips, the name sounded almost rakish.
“And you are?” he said. Freddo said.
“Christine.”
“Christine.” Freddo drew out the last syllable, like he didn’t want it to end.
The exchange speaks to the mercurial nature of identity, the slipperiness of personality, how difficult it is to ever pin someone down to one set of characteristics. Even when that someone is you.
And, as the novel progresses, Fred finds the people around him ever-shifting, transmuting from the familiar to inversions or permutations of their former selves. His brother George is sending him mysterious messages and appears to be sabotaging their former company even as he lies comatose in the hospital. Meanwhile, his younger brother, the workaholic Sam, has transformed their former company from an idealistic virtual reality paradise called Urth to a military and emergency training environment and who seems to be setting Fred up for failure and humiliation. To complicate matters, Fred’s love interest turns out to be hiding something he never anticipated.
Each of these story lines is interesting in its own way and it’s a credit to Shakar that he develops characters that are capable of surprising us (and Fred) in ways that are not initially obvious but entirely sensible in hindsight. This parade of morphing personalities brings to mind this passage from Roger Ebert’s 2003 review of Tarkovsky’s Solaris:
When we love someone, who do we love? That person, or our idea of that person? …Although other persons no doubt exist in independent physical space, our entire relationship with them exists in our minds. When we touch them, it is not the touch we experience, but our consciousness of the touch.
These questions of duality and our own frustrated attempts to drill down to the core of reality are suggested throughout the narrative. Which brings me to my few disappointments with the novel. Namely that Shakar can be a bit heavy-handed and tends to beat one over head with his motifs: in this novel alone we have twins, science and religion, magic/illusion, reality and virtual reality, twin towers, the two sides of the human brain, etc… A little of this stuff can go a long way and after a while I wanted to raise the white flag and say: “Okay! I get it already.”
Worse, however, is Shakar’s tendency to ply us with long lists of questions and saggy interior monologues in lieu of action or image. This predilection leads to plenty sloggy passages like this:
…he’d been reading about the anthropic cosmological principle, how the universe was so finely tuned for life as to arouse suspicion: how, if there had been four extended dimensions instead of three, planets would have flown right into their suns; how, if the cosmic expansion rate were one part in a million billion less, the universe would have remained a sweltering 3,000º Celsius and collapsed back in on itself billions of years ago; how the chance of such cosmological constants having emerged at random was something on the order of every member of his high school class winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning in alphabetical order. If some greater force and purpose were at work in all this, he wondered, then why all the subterfuge? Why all the arbitrariness of quantum fluctuation and genetic mutation? Why the absurdity of brains that could simulate some sense of that greater life only when they misfired? What good was a truth that could be perceived only through delusion? How would one ever really know what the truth was, in such a system? How would one ever know from one moment to the next the right thing to do, the right way to go?
Did you get through all that? Not only is this section tedious, but it also leaves the reader feeling as though he is being led by the nose. And further, these are questions that are raised with greater economy elsewhere via action and metaphor.
Still, despite these faults, I found Luminarium to be a smart and moving read. On one hand a ghost story and meditation on post-9/11 grief. On the other, a paen to the bonds of family and the ties that bind all of humanity. The way we all move to the future while looking ever back to our past.
December 1, 2011
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)
So before anything else, let me caution my fellow New Weird fans that Chicagoan Alex Shakar's Luminarium is not the trippy sci-fi novel that its cover, jacket copy and breathless Dave Eggers blurb promise it to be, and that those picking it up expecting it to be such are going to be severely disappointed, especially by the "anti-trick" ending that provides a rational explanation for all the bizarre things that happen before it. If what you're looking for, however, is an extremely clever and well-done character-heavy look at the zeitgeist of the Bush years, seen through the filter of such mid-2000s cultural detritus as virtual worlds, New Age mythology and the Disney-owned town of Celebration, Florida, then this Believer favorite is going to be right up your alley; because of all the 9/11 novels I've now read, this is arguably the best of them precisely because it takes such a sideways look at the subject, essentially sneaking up on the issue by instead concentrating on the co-founder of a Second-Life-type MMORPG that's been co-opted by Homeland Security, who rapidly unravels after starting to receive what seems like a series of otherworldly online messages from his comatose twin brother, while simultaneously participating in an academic neurological study that may or may not be slowly granting him psychic powers.
Full of all kinds of wonderfully nerdy details sure to delight any metaphysical tech-head (for one great example, the '70s Cray supercomputer that one brother gives the other as an elaborate joke gift, which is then turned into the online-startup "Prayerizer.com" that will send billions of pleas to God per day on your behalf for a nominal fee), but combined with the kind of quirky character-building details that MFAers are always on the lookout for (like the main character's habit of still performing in cheesy magic shows for children's birthday parties with his stoner hippie dad), Shakar almost magically manages to pull together these and dozens more widely scattered references into one coherent whole by the end, ultimately delivering a profound message about the schism between faith and technology in a world of 3D avatars and planes slamming into skyscrapers. Although the book definitely has its problems, which is why it isn't getting a higher score today -- I would've liked to have seen less academic stream-of-consciousness, for example, and more Chabonesque action scenes, such as the wickedly great section where our punch-drunk hero rampages through the headquarters of his startup's new corporate masters -- Luminarium is nonetheless well worth your time, but only for those prepared to enjoy it for what it is instead of being disappointed for what it's not. It comes recommended in that spirit.
Out of 10: 9.0
So before anything else, let me caution my fellow New Weird fans that Chicagoan Alex Shakar's Luminarium is not the trippy sci-fi novel that its cover, jacket copy and breathless Dave Eggers blurb promise it to be, and that those picking it up expecting it to be such are going to be severely disappointed, especially by the "anti-trick" ending that provides a rational explanation for all the bizarre things that happen before it. If what you're looking for, however, is an extremely clever and well-done character-heavy look at the zeitgeist of the Bush years, seen through the filter of such mid-2000s cultural detritus as virtual worlds, New Age mythology and the Disney-owned town of Celebration, Florida, then this Believer favorite is going to be right up your alley; because of all the 9/11 novels I've now read, this is arguably the best of them precisely because it takes such a sideways look at the subject, essentially sneaking up on the issue by instead concentrating on the co-founder of a Second-Life-type MMORPG that's been co-opted by Homeland Security, who rapidly unravels after starting to receive what seems like a series of otherworldly online messages from his comatose twin brother, while simultaneously participating in an academic neurological study that may or may not be slowly granting him psychic powers.
Full of all kinds of wonderfully nerdy details sure to delight any metaphysical tech-head (for one great example, the '70s Cray supercomputer that one brother gives the other as an elaborate joke gift, which is then turned into the online-startup "Prayerizer.com" that will send billions of pleas to God per day on your behalf for a nominal fee), but combined with the kind of quirky character-building details that MFAers are always on the lookout for (like the main character's habit of still performing in cheesy magic shows for children's birthday parties with his stoner hippie dad), Shakar almost magically manages to pull together these and dozens more widely scattered references into one coherent whole by the end, ultimately delivering a profound message about the schism between faith and technology in a world of 3D avatars and planes slamming into skyscrapers. Although the book definitely has its problems, which is why it isn't getting a higher score today -- I would've liked to have seen less academic stream-of-consciousness, for example, and more Chabonesque action scenes, such as the wickedly great section where our punch-drunk hero rampages through the headquarters of his startup's new corporate masters -- Luminarium is nonetheless well worth your time, but only for those prepared to enjoy it for what it is instead of being disappointed for what it's not. It comes recommended in that spirit.
Out of 10: 9.0
December 21, 2015
Not sure why I only liked, but not loved Luminarium. The concept was certainly novel. Fusing obviously well-researched neurosciences information with magical realism, we are told the story of one Fred Brounian, doing his best to keep his twin brother George, currently in a coma, alive, while living back at home with his once-actor-become-party-magician father, Vasar, & his Reiki-supernatural healing power-loving mother. His older brother, Sam, now in charge of the company George started with the three of them, could not care less about George, having visited him maybe once. He begins paid experiments involving a helmet, lights, electrodes, etc. that focus on playing with various parts of his mind, mostly the ever important frontal lobe, elucidating certain visions, allowing for some out-of-body floating experiences, illuminating memories, transporting him through time & space, etc. in charge of the experiments is Mira, whom he, of course, falls in love with... To complicate things further, he begins receiving highly technical messages from none other than his brother George.
I thoroughly appreciated the parts about Celebration, Florida, as well as the party magician scenes, which were actually relatively minor parts. The romance between was awkwardly cute. The relationship between the twin brothers was well illustrated, especially contrasting with older brother Sam. The technical IT information was extensive & educational, although could have used some further explanation at times. The same can be said about Virtual Gaming, also extensively covered. The neurosciences & neuropsychology information was most interesting, leaving readers wondering how long before this becomes real life.
In all, this science fiction, fantasy, neurology story with a virtual gaming world as well as the supernatural neurosciences world within the mind in addition to the real world was definitely an engaging, even very educational read, but was covering more than it maybe should have, the result being a slightly unfocused story line with one too many ideas. Other than that, I cannot say why I liked, rather than loved Alex Shakar's novel. It had all the appearances of an all-time-favorite, but somehow fell short.
I thoroughly appreciated the parts about Celebration, Florida, as well as the party magician scenes, which were actually relatively minor parts. The romance between was awkwardly cute. The relationship between the twin brothers was well illustrated, especially contrasting with older brother Sam. The technical IT information was extensive & educational, although could have used some further explanation at times. The same can be said about Virtual Gaming, also extensively covered. The neurosciences & neuropsychology information was most interesting, leaving readers wondering how long before this becomes real life.
In all, this science fiction, fantasy, neurology story with a virtual gaming world as well as the supernatural neurosciences world within the mind in addition to the real world was definitely an engaging, even very educational read, but was covering more than it maybe should have, the result being a slightly unfocused story line with one too many ideas. Other than that, I cannot say why I liked, rather than loved Alex Shakar's novel. It had all the appearances of an all-time-favorite, but somehow fell short.
October 4, 2012
Dreams, reality, games, real life, introspection all combined into a confusing mish-mash of 400 pages that when you finish you I ask what have I learned? The answer is nothing much. I am not going to try to retell the story as many others have tried to do. I think the author goes too many directions with very little focus or direction. He tries to tie in magic, the Disney city Celebration, Reiki, 9-11, advanced gaming, electronic mind enhancing devices and on and on. Even the title of the book really means little in the context of the book. It is readable and some of the characters are interesting but these are the only redeeming qualities. I would move on and read something else.
January 24, 2016
Doubt is pervasive. So we delude ourselves into certainty.
Am I good at my job? Yes, you just got a raise and your performance evaluation was fine. But how does that person know? They've got experience in the field. If someone else had done it, how would I have done? Fine; there are standards to be upheld. Who creates those standards? People with even more experience who know what they're doing. But how do they KNOW?
They don't.
None of us do.
Delude yourself all you want. Rationalize, justify, go to therapy, hold the crushing doubt at bay: you can't function if you let it in. But don't pretend, for a second, that you actually know anything.
We traipse, blind, through our lives -- holding to faith, even the most atheistic among us. Slyly, but reverently, Luminarium leaves no faith source untapped, un-lampooned: religion; 'new age' appropriation of old techniques; self-help books; politics; community; virtual reality; science. Faith without ignorance, Shakar calls that last one, the one we cling to fearfully: we know the underlying structure, so we must be right. We must be aware. Right.
The really scary thing, though, is that there might not be answers -- that we might be fighting for ultimate knowledge that can never be discovered, or at least not by the likes of our limited human physiology. But if emotion, if 'divine' experience, if rapture and passion can be explained by neural tweaks -- Mira's experiments -- then it's not about answers at all.
This book, in any case, offers none. And good -- because if it tried, it would have failed. In many ways it does fail -- it's too long, it takes itself too seriously; the writing skims too easily and there's too much going on in ways that aren't effectively put together (even allowing for the "no answers" intent). Conceptually, Luminarium is very cool -- a man slips into in a cancer-induced coma, leaving his identical twin to toy with faith systems and identity, to question where our sense of self comes from and whether it's worth having.
Practically, though, it's little more than an existentialist allegory -- and not a standout one. And I mean, the end result of these allegories ---- and there have been many ---- goes one of two ways: define your own meaning, or become a nihilist. It's not a particularly innovative message -- whichever way you go -- and the story leading there is just ridiculous enough that the reader feels detached (or I did, anyway) from any actual revelation. And the "all sources of meaning are ultimately one -- BUT DOES IT REALLY MATTER?" revelation is not that profound, anyway.
But I liked this book, overall, in its uncomfortable honesty. I liked the artifice of it -- the twins named Fred and George, a clear allusion to Harry Potter; the Lord of the Rings bits. As if the fictional worlds we create are as deserving of deep meaning as the rest of it -- that is -- not very.
I mean, ultimately it really doesn't matter where I end this review. Or that I read this book, or that I can read, or that I'm here at all. Luminarium works best in atmosphere: a sick, warped, post-9/11 world that has shattered our North American illusion of security, of solid structure. Nothing has meaning; our collective doubt is increasingly hard to ignore. And I know that, I know there is nothing objective, I know I will never really know -- yet I still want to end this review in a way that makes sense to me.
And I guess the best way is just to end it.
Am I good at my job? Yes, you just got a raise and your performance evaluation was fine. But how does that person know? They've got experience in the field. If someone else had done it, how would I have done? Fine; there are standards to be upheld. Who creates those standards? People with even more experience who know what they're doing. But how do they KNOW?
They don't.
None of us do.
Delude yourself all you want. Rationalize, justify, go to therapy, hold the crushing doubt at bay: you can't function if you let it in. But don't pretend, for a second, that you actually know anything.
We traipse, blind, through our lives -- holding to faith, even the most atheistic among us. Slyly, but reverently, Luminarium leaves no faith source untapped, un-lampooned: religion; 'new age' appropriation of old techniques; self-help books; politics; community; virtual reality; science. Faith without ignorance, Shakar calls that last one, the one we cling to fearfully: we know the underlying structure, so we must be right. We must be aware. Right.
The really scary thing, though, is that there might not be answers -- that we might be fighting for ultimate knowledge that can never be discovered, or at least not by the likes of our limited human physiology. But if emotion, if 'divine' experience, if rapture and passion can be explained by neural tweaks -- Mira's experiments -- then it's not about answers at all.
This book, in any case, offers none. And good -- because if it tried, it would have failed. In many ways it does fail -- it's too long, it takes itself too seriously; the writing skims too easily and there's too much going on in ways that aren't effectively put together (even allowing for the "no answers" intent). Conceptually, Luminarium is very cool -- a man slips into in a cancer-induced coma, leaving his identical twin to toy with faith systems and identity, to question where our sense of self comes from and whether it's worth having.
Practically, though, it's little more than an existentialist allegory -- and not a standout one. And I mean, the end result of these allegories ---- and there have been many ---- goes one of two ways: define your own meaning, or become a nihilist. It's not a particularly innovative message -- whichever way you go -- and the story leading there is just ridiculous enough that the reader feels detached (or I did, anyway) from any actual revelation. And the "all sources of meaning are ultimately one -- BUT DOES IT REALLY MATTER?" revelation is not that profound, anyway.
But I liked this book, overall, in its uncomfortable honesty. I liked the artifice of it -- the twins named Fred and George, a clear allusion to Harry Potter; the Lord of the Rings bits. As if the fictional worlds we create are as deserving of deep meaning as the rest of it -- that is -- not very.
I mean, ultimately it really doesn't matter where I end this review. Or that I read this book, or that I can read, or that I'm here at all. Luminarium works best in atmosphere: a sick, warped, post-9/11 world that has shattered our North American illusion of security, of solid structure. Nothing has meaning; our collective doubt is increasingly hard to ignore. And I know that, I know there is nothing objective, I know I will never really know -- yet I still want to end this review in a way that makes sense to me.
And I guess the best way is just to end it.
May 24, 2013
I love a big book that just unfolds and unfolds and I can lose myself in it. Luminarium is one of those books that I kept looking up and saying 'God this is great." A mind-altering sparkle-shelled football helmet descends on an ex-dotcom golden boy whose twin brother (the true genius) lies in a NYC hospital in a coma... the plot is a rocket, but it's not so much a straight ascent as it is a shimmering blast addressing familial relations, 9/11, post-employment America, consciousness, altered realities. I'd done a panel with Alex Shakar at the LA Times book fest a couple of years ago, bought his book but had not cracked it until now. Holy @#$ this guy can write. On the shelf, I'd put it between Gary Shteingardt's Super True Sad Love Story and something by Vonnegut. Especially liked the parents, an elderly ex-dancer with a new calling as a Reiki practitioner, and an ex or sometimes actor now doing birthday party magic acts with his unemployed ex-millionaire son. Poignant in so many places, funny, insightful, appreciative of this weird and vulnerable condition of being human.
September 26, 2011
Luminarium is the best book I have read this year. It just has everything I like: a super intelligent author, set in contemporary times with hip current issues, a quirky family tale, and the science vs religion question handled with plenty of irony and humor.
Alex Shakar's first novel, The Savage Girl was good but I had some problems with it, one of which was the soullessness of his characters. In Luminarium he clearly went looking for spiritual underpinnings, as does his main character, and was successful in his quest.
Fred Brounian, the seeker in the story, is a twin. He and George grew up with yearnings for a better world which they found by creating one virtually. Meanwhile the real world got worse: the attack on the World Trade Center, the resulting fear of terrorism and wars, and the rise of the military in American life. In fact, Fred, George and a third brother Sam, suffered their own attack when Urth, their highly successful virtual world company, was gobbled up by Armation, whose government contracts involved creating virtual worlds for military training. During this descent from utopia to total war, George fell fatally ill and now lies in a coma. He is being kept alive at a financial cost that is bankrupting Fred.
It is a bit of a cliche. A modern man, fairly atheistic, who is intelligent and has always put his faith in science and technology, hits rock bottom and turns to religion. Alex Shakar doesn't do cliches except to turn them inside out by means of the above mentioned irony and humor. So when Fred signs up for a neurological study and puts on the "God helmet" while Mira, his researcher and guide, alludes to "faith without ignorance," he and the reader are in for some wild rides straddling the boundaries between science and religion.
The impressive degree of complexity here make reading Luminarium compelling. Fred falls in love with Mira, a woman full of mystery and contradictions. Concurrently he is receiving emails and texts from his comatose twin and while rationally he knows they have to be bogus, the chance that George is actually reaching out to him on some inexplicable spiritual plane propels him into researching religions ancient and modern and comparing his findings to the quantum physics he has always pursued in his spare time.
All of this is conveyed in some of the most consummate prose I have read. Fred's out of body adventures, brought on by the "God helmet" electrodes, are explained to him in terms of the targeted stimulation of various lobes in his brain. But descriptions of the ways Fred experiences feeling one with the universe, being overwhelmed by love for strangers, etc are comparable to those found in the early Carlos Castaneda books. Taking the reader through Fred's search for meaning as he tries to solve the chaos that is his current life, Shakar maintains the confusions and anxiety of his characters without ever losing the reader.
By the end of the story, most of the mysteries in the lives of Fred and his brothers are solved and the questions raised have been answered. True to life though is a final chapter that opens a whole new set of possibilities for Fred's future. I personally dream of a future where science and religion have met. Whatever your beliefs or dreams, this novel will challenge you and make you think about where our world is going. In our current state of rapid technological advance, Alex Shakar posits that we still need spiritual answers, that family and love matter, but loss and misunderstandings confront us at every turn. It is a wonder how he made such potentially weighty ideas so entertaining.
May 30, 2012
A wonderfully ambitious novel. Fred is beset by losses, his twin brother is wasting away in a coma, his business has been stolen from him, he lives in his parents house, lost his girlfriend and has run out of money. On a whim involving luggage he decides to take part in a experiment which aims to recreate the religious experience by manipulating his brain. It all sounds really good and makes me seem very uncharitable to give the book one star but the only feeling I had upon finishing the book was a deep relief that ordeal was over. My trudge through the book was slowed to glacially slow by the seeming continuous repetitive loop of experiences the main character went through, the lack of lightness anywhere, and finally characters that never came to life for me.
It was like having a deep tissue massage that went horribly wrong - good intentions and maybe on another day it would have been great but ended up just being a real pain in the... well pretty much everywhere
It was like having a deep tissue massage that went horribly wrong - good intentions and maybe on another day it would have been great but ended up just being a real pain in the... well pretty much everywhere
December 24, 2011
Wow - I'm not sure what to say about this one... I liked it better in the first 3/4ths than towards the end. For the last 100 pages or so I was just waiting for it to be over. The plot just became dragged-out and tiresome.
Having said that, this is a very imaginative book. And very intellectual (probably too smart for me - it lost me at certain points). It's "about" dreams, souls, consciousness, an immersive computer world, and how all those things bleed together to the extent that the protagonist can't necessarily tell them apart anymore. That's probably all I can say without spoilers, but I would say if you like intellectual books that investigate the meaning of life and the purpose of the soul, you might like this one.
Having said that, this is a very imaginative book. And very intellectual (probably too smart for me - it lost me at certain points). It's "about" dreams, souls, consciousness, an immersive computer world, and how all those things bleed together to the extent that the protagonist can't necessarily tell them apart anymore. That's probably all I can say without spoilers, but I would say if you like intellectual books that investigate the meaning of life and the purpose of the soul, you might like this one.
August 9, 2020
I read the Savage Girl by Alex Shakar and loved it. Years passed as I eagerly awaited his second novel. It was supposed to be about religion, neuroscience, 9/11, and the meaning of life. It had an endorsement from Dave Eggers. I couldn't wait.
Let me say that the themes of this novel were great. The plot was interesting. But the writing was bad. As one reviewer on Amazon put it, the protagonist can't walk across the room in less than a paragraph. Everything is over-described. You could have edited out a hundred pages of this and distilled it to a much better novel.
And ultimately, the fatal flaw was that the main character was boring. I simply couldn't get caught up in his plight or feelings.
Let me say that the themes of this novel were great. The plot was interesting. But the writing was bad. As one reviewer on Amazon put it, the protagonist can't walk across the room in less than a paragraph. Everything is over-described. You could have edited out a hundred pages of this and distilled it to a much better novel.
And ultimately, the fatal flaw was that the main character was boring. I simply couldn't get caught up in his plight or feelings.
September 16, 2011
Luminarium reminds me of Neal Stephenson mixed with Franzen. The family issues and character development was very Franzen-esque. The suspense of the story was more like Neal Stephenson. It was hard to put this book down, because there were so many questions left unanswered that you knew were going to be answered. The cybertechnology of the story wasn't as cutting edge as Stephenson, but it was reminiscent of Neal's work. The love story with Mira towards the end disappointed me. I was hoping to be done with her when she kicked Freddo out.
November 24, 2013
Days after finishing Alex Shakar’s “Luminarium,” I’m still stumbling around the house in a mixture of wonder and awe. His new novel considers how our perceptions of the world are manipulated and controlled. I can’t claim to have understood all of it, but I did find it completely absorbing, and anyone hungry for a deeply philosophical novel that, nonetheless, maintains its humility will find here a story worth wrestling with.
You know who you are: You left “The Matrix” and “Inception” dazzled but wishing for a little less computer-generated wizardry and a lot more articulation of the movies’ ideas (which also indicates that you should never become a Hollywood producer). In “Luminarium” those ideas — about the nature of reality and the interplay of technology and perception — are explored with great care and maturity.
Rather than a trip back to your undergraduate bull sessions (cue the Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin”), Shakar has set his story against the background of personal and national grief. The result is a strikingly metaphysical novel that never dematerializes into misty cliches, a book to challenge the mystic and the doubter alike.
Even the most enthusiastic summary, though, risks making this book sound gloomy and cheesy. I opened it because of Shakar’s previous novel, a dystopic satire of market research called “The Savage Girl,” which came out just days before 9/11. Weak sales reportedly caused HarperCollins to drop Shakar, but fortunately, the indie publishing house SoHo has picked up this brilliant writer. Now he’s produced something like an adult version of “Sophie’s World” for readers clicking between Mortal Kombat and Immanuel Kant.
“Luminarium” opens in the long shadow of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. It’s 2006, and Fred Brounian’s life is a wreck: His beloved twin brother, George, is lying in a coma, dying of cancer. The online gaming business they built together has been effectively stolen from them by a large military contractor involved in the war on terror.
Friendless, penniless and depressed, Fred signs up to be a human guinea pig at NYU, where he can make $50 an hour by donning a helmet covered in wires to stimulate different parts of his brain. The scientists in charge hope to determine the neurological locus of spirituality. Every week, Fred sits down in an old vinyl chair and finds himself jolted to feel at one with the universe or to experience rapture or to sense the presence of God.
This sounds like the kind of study Richard Dawkins and his flock would cite to prove the imaginary basis of religious experience, but Shakar isn’t preaching to the atheism choir. Instead, Fred’s episodes in the lab — described here in luminous, visionary language — send him on a quest to understand the nature of spirituality. And what makes that quest so fascinating is that he’s determined to find “a faith without ignorance . . . a foothold of reason in that sheer cliff of spirit.”
The great pleasure of Shakar’s writing, besides his luxuriously cool style, is his ability to weave old metaphysical issues through a plot electrified with contemporary details. Like Richard Powers’s “Generosity,” which investigates the genetics of happiness, or Rebecca Newberger Goldstein’s “36 Arguments for the Existence of God,” which explores the psychological tendency toward belief, “Luminarium” is a ruminative novel to plumb your most transcendent questions.
The story seems to sprawl in too many quirky directions, but the connections that develop are ingenious. While Fred subjects himself to the “God helmet” and throws himself into a meandering study of Hindu cosmology, he also tries to rejoin the gaming company that he and his brother started and lost. Long before he fell ill, George, who reminds me of the virtual reality pioneer Jaron Lanier, envisioned an online experience that would improve people’s minds: a game of spiritual evolution played in an alternative reality called Urth. “The avatars’ immaterial nature could rub off on players over time,” he once told Fred, “temper their baser desires, coax their mindsets up the pyramid steps of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, from physiological and safety needs all the way up to beauty, truth, self-actualization.” But alas, now, in the ashes of 9/11, George is stuck at death’s door, and his enriching online platform is being re-engineered by a military contractor to produce ever more realistic simulations of terrorist attacks and reprisals. It’s a provocative critique of the way our culture continues to be warped by the boundless paranoia and taxpayer money that 9/11 unleashed.
Everywhere in these pages, Shakar explores different facets of belief and the manipulation of consciousness. While scrambling to rebuild his career at the Web company he lost, Fred keeps receiving prank text messages that appear to come from his comatose brother. And George’s spirit — the avatar of a “chemotherapy angel” — seems to be hacking the online game he once designed.
Fred’s mother throws herself into the Japanese healing practice of Reiki, which Fred would scorn more openly if it didn’t bring her — and her patients — so much comfort. Fred’s father, meanwhile, is an actor who abandons the part of Shakespeare’s sorcerer in “The Tempest” to concentrate on performing magic at birthday parties, creating little illusions for the children of dot-com millionaires who are creating more elaborate illusions for their online audiences. And finally, Fred’s younger brother, the ultimate realist, looks forward to leaving New York for the virtual pleasantness of Disney’s Celebration USA. At every layer, Shakar spins the various ways we willingly or unwillingly allow our perceptions to be enhanced or even distorted. “Reality’s up for grabs,” Fred remembers his twin saying. “Everybody’s grabbing.”
What kind of spiritual experience is really real? What’s the difference between an epiphany and a brain glitch? Such questions sound embarrassingly occult and irrelevant nowadays, but consider that this was once a primary theological issue for Americans. The early Puritans who came here were particularly concerned about distinguishing between genuine religious experience and what they disparaged as mere enthusiasm. Jonathan Edwards spoke of cultivating a spiritual sense that could perceive divinity, a kind of heightened reality that sounds strangely like the extraordinary virtual worlds so many hunger for online. American culture has moved far over the past 300 years, but how brilliantly all these old and new themes are linked in this strange, lush book.
“Luminarium” is as much a psychological thriller as a meditation on Eastern mythology, as much a satire of the war on terror as a lament for lost loved ones. The audience for a cerebral, melancholy novel like this is unlikely to be large, but intrepid readers will be grateful for the challenge.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/enterta...
You know who you are: You left “The Matrix” and “Inception” dazzled but wishing for a little less computer-generated wizardry and a lot more articulation of the movies’ ideas (which also indicates that you should never become a Hollywood producer). In “Luminarium” those ideas — about the nature of reality and the interplay of technology and perception — are explored with great care and maturity.
Rather than a trip back to your undergraduate bull sessions (cue the Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin”), Shakar has set his story against the background of personal and national grief. The result is a strikingly metaphysical novel that never dematerializes into misty cliches, a book to challenge the mystic and the doubter alike.
Even the most enthusiastic summary, though, risks making this book sound gloomy and cheesy. I opened it because of Shakar’s previous novel, a dystopic satire of market research called “The Savage Girl,” which came out just days before 9/11. Weak sales reportedly caused HarperCollins to drop Shakar, but fortunately, the indie publishing house SoHo has picked up this brilliant writer. Now he’s produced something like an adult version of “Sophie’s World” for readers clicking between Mortal Kombat and Immanuel Kant.
“Luminarium” opens in the long shadow of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. It’s 2006, and Fred Brounian’s life is a wreck: His beloved twin brother, George, is lying in a coma, dying of cancer. The online gaming business they built together has been effectively stolen from them by a large military contractor involved in the war on terror.
Friendless, penniless and depressed, Fred signs up to be a human guinea pig at NYU, where he can make $50 an hour by donning a helmet covered in wires to stimulate different parts of his brain. The scientists in charge hope to determine the neurological locus of spirituality. Every week, Fred sits down in an old vinyl chair and finds himself jolted to feel at one with the universe or to experience rapture or to sense the presence of God.
This sounds like the kind of study Richard Dawkins and his flock would cite to prove the imaginary basis of religious experience, but Shakar isn’t preaching to the atheism choir. Instead, Fred’s episodes in the lab — described here in luminous, visionary language — send him on a quest to understand the nature of spirituality. And what makes that quest so fascinating is that he’s determined to find “a faith without ignorance . . . a foothold of reason in that sheer cliff of spirit.”
The great pleasure of Shakar’s writing, besides his luxuriously cool style, is his ability to weave old metaphysical issues through a plot electrified with contemporary details. Like Richard Powers’s “Generosity,” which investigates the genetics of happiness, or Rebecca Newberger Goldstein’s “36 Arguments for the Existence of God,” which explores the psychological tendency toward belief, “Luminarium” is a ruminative novel to plumb your most transcendent questions.
The story seems to sprawl in too many quirky directions, but the connections that develop are ingenious. While Fred subjects himself to the “God helmet” and throws himself into a meandering study of Hindu cosmology, he also tries to rejoin the gaming company that he and his brother started and lost. Long before he fell ill, George, who reminds me of the virtual reality pioneer Jaron Lanier, envisioned an online experience that would improve people’s minds: a game of spiritual evolution played in an alternative reality called Urth. “The avatars’ immaterial nature could rub off on players over time,” he once told Fred, “temper their baser desires, coax their mindsets up the pyramid steps of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, from physiological and safety needs all the way up to beauty, truth, self-actualization.” But alas, now, in the ashes of 9/11, George is stuck at death’s door, and his enriching online platform is being re-engineered by a military contractor to produce ever more realistic simulations of terrorist attacks and reprisals. It’s a provocative critique of the way our culture continues to be warped by the boundless paranoia and taxpayer money that 9/11 unleashed.
Everywhere in these pages, Shakar explores different facets of belief and the manipulation of consciousness. While scrambling to rebuild his career at the Web company he lost, Fred keeps receiving prank text messages that appear to come from his comatose brother. And George’s spirit — the avatar of a “chemotherapy angel” — seems to be hacking the online game he once designed.
Fred’s mother throws herself into the Japanese healing practice of Reiki, which Fred would scorn more openly if it didn’t bring her — and her patients — so much comfort. Fred’s father, meanwhile, is an actor who abandons the part of Shakespeare’s sorcerer in “The Tempest” to concentrate on performing magic at birthday parties, creating little illusions for the children of dot-com millionaires who are creating more elaborate illusions for their online audiences. And finally, Fred’s younger brother, the ultimate realist, looks forward to leaving New York for the virtual pleasantness of Disney’s Celebration USA. At every layer, Shakar spins the various ways we willingly or unwillingly allow our perceptions to be enhanced or even distorted. “Reality’s up for grabs,” Fred remembers his twin saying. “Everybody’s grabbing.”
What kind of spiritual experience is really real? What’s the difference between an epiphany and a brain glitch? Such questions sound embarrassingly occult and irrelevant nowadays, but consider that this was once a primary theological issue for Americans. The early Puritans who came here were particularly concerned about distinguishing between genuine religious experience and what they disparaged as mere enthusiasm. Jonathan Edwards spoke of cultivating a spiritual sense that could perceive divinity, a kind of heightened reality that sounds strangely like the extraordinary virtual worlds so many hunger for online. American culture has moved far over the past 300 years, but how brilliantly all these old and new themes are linked in this strange, lush book.
“Luminarium” is as much a psychological thriller as a meditation on Eastern mythology, as much a satire of the war on terror as a lament for lost loved ones. The audience for a cerebral, melancholy novel like this is unlikely to be large, but intrepid readers will be grateful for the challenge.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/enterta...
August 7, 2012
As his twin languishes in a coma, a man seeks spiritual enlightenment and meaning, aided by texts and emails that seem to be coming from his brother. Alex Shakar’s Luminarium is a beautifully written book that mashes up philosophy, pop culture, recent past, quantum mechanics and a story about a man whose twin brother is dying.
It is the summer of 2006 and Fred Brounian is not in a good place. The video game company he and his brothers founded has been stolen by a military company that uses its game engine to run extremely realistic training scenarios for its wannabe warriors. His fiancée Melanie has broken up with him and taken up with someone new (or so he’s heard). And despite being in a coma, his dying twin brother George has been sending him a series of enigmatic emails—Help Avatara—that mean nothing to him.
Fred joins a group studying spirituality, and finds the experience alternately liberating and frightening, made more complicated by his attraction to Mira, the woman facilitating it. He reatreats into the cranky comfort of his relationship with his father Vartan, a failed actor but decent musician who performs at kids’ birthday parties in an act that George conceived when he and Fred were in high school.
This nook is a dazzling, dizzying romp through pop culture, recent history, East Indian myth, quantum physics and a whole spectrum of other elements. It’s lovely to see a story in which the myth is not the same old Catholic and Celtic tropes that have been done to death, and the author does a graceful job of integrating the myth and the mundane. (He’s particularly good with the various game scenarios and the texts and messages Fred gets from … wherever he’s getting them from.)
Luminarium works on many levels. At its simplest, it’s the story of a man whose life is falling apart, making him ripe for the “faith without ignorance” spiritual awakening that Miri is offering. It’s the story of a man coping with the impending death of his twin, his other self. It’s a love story. It’s a tale of quantum revelation in which “real physics” coexists alongside things that could not possibly happen, and yet do.
It all sounds very artsy/fartsy in a “lit-fic” kind of way, but it isn’t ponderous at all. That’s partly because the writer sees the absurd side of things and in between the genuine search for meaning and peace, there are some hilarious moments. Some of them, to be sure, are blackly hilarious but the humor is there nonetheless. (The scene where Fred, the former co-CEO of the game company Urth, confronts a Human Resources wonk who suggests his skills might be good for one of the entry-level jobs they have is priceless.) One of the most intense conversations about spirituality occurs when Fred is dead drunk and his godfather Manfred is waxing on about Mu while munching fries at the bar of a Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville.
Among the author’s targets are the relentlessly production-designed town of Celebration, Florida where there don’t seem to be any inhabitants under 60, trendy bars and their denizens, the military-entertainment complex, and Reiki. (Fred’s mother Holly is a practitioner and in one very oddball sequence, she enlists Fred’s aid in “healing” a street in New York.
Then there are the magic shows Fred performs with his pot-smoking, failed actor father. The magic act was George’s idea and it’s been the only income Vartan has had for years. (The writer has given Vartan a detailed backstory that includes his one almost-breakthrough performance as an Italian priest who lives the Church.)
It is, in fact, the details that really sell this story, rooting it in reality even as it takes off in flights of fancy. We are reminded of Arthur C. Clarke’s oft-quoted observation that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” It’s hard to know how to categorize this story—magical realism? New weird? (The story shares some aesthetic similarities to the work of China Mieville and Chuck Palanuik as well, particularly his novel about evangelists.)
There’s some heady stuff going on here, especially in Fred’s inner musings, but a lot of that can just inform the story going on at the surface, which is interesting enough on its own because the characters are really likable and relatable. The shadow of 9/11 looms over the story in an interesting way and there’s a twist in the story that relates to that event that readers will probably not see coming.
The characters are extremely dimensional. We delight in finding out Mira has a tattoo (and rather a strange one). We’re intrigued to know that Sam is trying to reinvent himself with his move to Florida. Fred is a very likeable guy. His story is told in both a traditional, straightforward narrative way and in a series of flashbacks to moments that shaped him. These flashbacks blend seamlessly into the technology-induced near-death experience he has while under Mira’s care.
A large part of Fred’s character is the voice in his head he refers to as “the inner George.” He can channel George any time he likes, which makes the messages he gets from him seem almost normal. We “get” him totally, but we also understand his tormented little brother who has thrown himself headlong into Christian dating and Christian websites and the manufactured Midwestern dream of the Disney manufactured of Celebration.
All of the characters—from the smallest (the nasty-minded guy who wants to know if George and Fred ever “shared a chick”) to the most important (Fred, his younger brother Sam, Mira, George)—come off the page in vivid detail. The ending is rather quiet after all the build-up but it is life-affirming. We’re left with a message of love. This meditation on technology and spiritualityis a powerful story about a quest for enlightenme that turns in the end, to a search for simple peace.
It is the summer of 2006 and Fred Brounian is not in a good place. The video game company he and his brothers founded has been stolen by a military company that uses its game engine to run extremely realistic training scenarios for its wannabe warriors. His fiancée Melanie has broken up with him and taken up with someone new (or so he’s heard). And despite being in a coma, his dying twin brother George has been sending him a series of enigmatic emails—Help Avatara—that mean nothing to him.
Fred joins a group studying spirituality, and finds the experience alternately liberating and frightening, made more complicated by his attraction to Mira, the woman facilitating it. He reatreats into the cranky comfort of his relationship with his father Vartan, a failed actor but decent musician who performs at kids’ birthday parties in an act that George conceived when he and Fred were in high school.
This nook is a dazzling, dizzying romp through pop culture, recent history, East Indian myth, quantum physics and a whole spectrum of other elements. It’s lovely to see a story in which the myth is not the same old Catholic and Celtic tropes that have been done to death, and the author does a graceful job of integrating the myth and the mundane. (He’s particularly good with the various game scenarios and the texts and messages Fred gets from … wherever he’s getting them from.)
Luminarium works on many levels. At its simplest, it’s the story of a man whose life is falling apart, making him ripe for the “faith without ignorance” spiritual awakening that Miri is offering. It’s the story of a man coping with the impending death of his twin, his other self. It’s a love story. It’s a tale of quantum revelation in which “real physics” coexists alongside things that could not possibly happen, and yet do.
It all sounds very artsy/fartsy in a “lit-fic” kind of way, but it isn’t ponderous at all. That’s partly because the writer sees the absurd side of things and in between the genuine search for meaning and peace, there are some hilarious moments. Some of them, to be sure, are blackly hilarious but the humor is there nonetheless. (The scene where Fred, the former co-CEO of the game company Urth, confronts a Human Resources wonk who suggests his skills might be good for one of the entry-level jobs they have is priceless.) One of the most intense conversations about spirituality occurs when Fred is dead drunk and his godfather Manfred is waxing on about Mu while munching fries at the bar of a Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville.
Among the author’s targets are the relentlessly production-designed town of Celebration, Florida where there don’t seem to be any inhabitants under 60, trendy bars and their denizens, the military-entertainment complex, and Reiki. (Fred’s mother Holly is a practitioner and in one very oddball sequence, she enlists Fred’s aid in “healing” a street in New York.
Then there are the magic shows Fred performs with his pot-smoking, failed actor father. The magic act was George’s idea and it’s been the only income Vartan has had for years. (The writer has given Vartan a detailed backstory that includes his one almost-breakthrough performance as an Italian priest who lives the Church.)
It is, in fact, the details that really sell this story, rooting it in reality even as it takes off in flights of fancy. We are reminded of Arthur C. Clarke’s oft-quoted observation that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” It’s hard to know how to categorize this story—magical realism? New weird? (The story shares some aesthetic similarities to the work of China Mieville and Chuck Palanuik as well, particularly his novel about evangelists.)
There’s some heady stuff going on here, especially in Fred’s inner musings, but a lot of that can just inform the story going on at the surface, which is interesting enough on its own because the characters are really likable and relatable. The shadow of 9/11 looms over the story in an interesting way and there’s a twist in the story that relates to that event that readers will probably not see coming.
The characters are extremely dimensional. We delight in finding out Mira has a tattoo (and rather a strange one). We’re intrigued to know that Sam is trying to reinvent himself with his move to Florida. Fred is a very likeable guy. His story is told in both a traditional, straightforward narrative way and in a series of flashbacks to moments that shaped him. These flashbacks blend seamlessly into the technology-induced near-death experience he has while under Mira’s care.
A large part of Fred’s character is the voice in his head he refers to as “the inner George.” He can channel George any time he likes, which makes the messages he gets from him seem almost normal. We “get” him totally, but we also understand his tormented little brother who has thrown himself headlong into Christian dating and Christian websites and the manufactured Midwestern dream of the Disney manufactured of Celebration.
All of the characters—from the smallest (the nasty-minded guy who wants to know if George and Fred ever “shared a chick”) to the most important (Fred, his younger brother Sam, Mira, George)—come off the page in vivid detail. The ending is rather quiet after all the build-up but it is life-affirming. We’re left with a message of love. This meditation on technology and spiritualityis a powerful story about a quest for enlightenme that turns in the end, to a search for simple peace.
November 24, 2022
I wish I had read "Luminarium" sooner. It's a book about a lot of big ideas specific to a certain period of time. It takes place in New York in the post 9-11 period and explores concepts of meaning, loss, religion and science. It's still an interesting read, but outside of that time period it doesn't have quite the bang that it probably would have had I read it pre-2016. Some of the problems and questions in "Luminarium" are still relevant, but the world seems to have had one of those big shifts in 2016, much like 2001, where the world feels strange and different and we are all still trying to make sense of it.
September 7, 2012
I'm not quite sure where to start with this one. It's not an easy read, but not a difficult one either. I recommend picking this up when you're in a pensive place, when you need a little musing about the meaning of life, but in engrossing novel form, not thick pretentious philosopher form. In fact, that's how I would describe this book in a nutshell: profound but not pretentious. And that, my friends, is a delicate balance to strike; with the (incredible) exception of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I'm not sure I've ever seen it struck so deftly.
Let's get slightly more concrete. Fred has an identical twin brother, George, who is in a coma after a long battle with cancer. Fred, not surprisingly, is having a bit of an existential crisis. [An aside: for me, I think the "not surprisingly" is important, because as incredibly, stupidly famous as Albert Camus and his Stranger are, I never once sympathized with that narrator, and hated every second of being dragged along on his philosophical journey. Fred, on the other hand, is a sad and complex but eminently sympathetic character; throughout the whole book I wanted desperately for him to figure out his life and everything in it. In other words, I rooted for him in a way that cut through, or survived, all the spiritualist questioning.] Rather on a whim, Fred enrolls in a medical study that turns out to be based on the concept that spiritual experiences can be replicated by manipulation/stimulation of certain areas of the brain and the chemicals therein. For example, a sense of connectedness or oneness with others and with nature can be simulated by messing with the part of the brain that defines the edges of the self, the "this is me, that is not me" perception. The goal, in a sense, is to see if the benefits of spirituality (peace, comfort, a sense of purpose) can be attained without the mysticism of religion: a "faith without ignorance," as the tester puts it.
That sounds a little deep and heavy, right? Well, it is, but it's leavened by the backdrop of Frank and George's company, a sort of Second Life-type immersive reality game called Urth. The problem is, Fred sold the company to pay George's medical bills, and now their game is being remade as a virtual training arena for the "military entertainment complex" [which, as another aside, I think is a brilliant phrase, though I don't know if it's original to this book].
Here's the fun part: without any spoilers, some things start happening to Fred that seem (sortof, although it's not really possible -- is it?) like George, still in his coma, might be orchestrating. Which naturally provides a different but still understandable and fascinating path to the pondering of life and the afterlife and the power of... what? The brain? The soul? The ineffable essence of the self?
Things get a lot more ethereal in the last chapter or so; I'm not even going to lie and tell you that I'm exactly sure what the last few sentences mean or where they're supposed to leave me. But by that point I'd gotten enough out of this book that I was content to just let them be; they're words, and they have meaning, even if I don't understand it yet. Is that my very own existential enlightenment?
Let's get slightly more concrete. Fred has an identical twin brother, George, who is in a coma after a long battle with cancer. Fred, not surprisingly, is having a bit of an existential crisis. [An aside: for me, I think the "not surprisingly" is important, because as incredibly, stupidly famous as Albert Camus and his Stranger are, I never once sympathized with that narrator, and hated every second of being dragged along on his philosophical journey. Fred, on the other hand, is a sad and complex but eminently sympathetic character; throughout the whole book I wanted desperately for him to figure out his life and everything in it. In other words, I rooted for him in a way that cut through, or survived, all the spiritualist questioning.] Rather on a whim, Fred enrolls in a medical study that turns out to be based on the concept that spiritual experiences can be replicated by manipulation/stimulation of certain areas of the brain and the chemicals therein. For example, a sense of connectedness or oneness with others and with nature can be simulated by messing with the part of the brain that defines the edges of the self, the "this is me, that is not me" perception. The goal, in a sense, is to see if the benefits of spirituality (peace, comfort, a sense of purpose) can be attained without the mysticism of religion: a "faith without ignorance," as the tester puts it.
That sounds a little deep and heavy, right? Well, it is, but it's leavened by the backdrop of Frank and George's company, a sort of Second Life-type immersive reality game called Urth. The problem is, Fred sold the company to pay George's medical bills, and now their game is being remade as a virtual training arena for the "military entertainment complex" [which, as another aside, I think is a brilliant phrase, though I don't know if it's original to this book].
Here's the fun part: without any spoilers, some things start happening to Fred that seem (sortof, although it's not really possible -- is it?) like George, still in his coma, might be orchestrating. Which naturally provides a different but still understandable and fascinating path to the pondering of life and the afterlife and the power of... what? The brain? The soul? The ineffable essence of the self?
Things get a lot more ethereal in the last chapter or so; I'm not even going to lie and tell you that I'm exactly sure what the last few sentences mean or where they're supposed to leave me. But by that point I'd gotten enough out of this book that I was content to just let them be; they're words, and they have meaning, even if I don't understand it yet. Is that my very own existential enlightenment?
August 9, 2011
This was an interesting novel. Deeper than I expected it to be. It takes a brave author to dive into the vast realm of spirituality and build a compelling story around it. Shakar has quite a flair for seeing things in a unique light. The prose is wickedly smart. For the most part I enjoyed that aspect of it.
But it's not going to be a good fit for everyone. It's not an easy read, in either the depth of the text or in length. It's not a hard science-fiction novel, but I think it will appeal to the same sort of reader (lots of hard-science concepts and related terminology).
It's difficult to say what this book is about because it's about so many things: the meaning of life, the role of religion, how or if science explains religion, and the metaphysical that can't be explained any other way. "Faith without ignorance." It also explores the FPS/MMO realm via Urth, a virtual reality simulation of the real world, a look at just how real a fake world can get (and therefore become to people).
On the surface, this novel chronicles Fred Brounian's life struggles following the loss of his company and his mysteriously comatose twin-brother. But it also examines the nature of the universe, the nature of reality. It spans many quasi-religious viewpoints over the course of Fred's spiritual discovery, exploring a host of different spiritual/psychological ideologies in subtle ways. Hinduism plays a major role, along with reiki.
On an intellectual level I enjoyed this novel. It reads like a sort of fictional memoir. I enjoyed his sessions in the NYU study. I found the parallels between neuroscience and commonly perceived spiritual experiences very interesting. The mysterious email thread starts off well but goes way too far out on a limb as far as suspension of disbelief goes, which is the case for the last third of the novel.
Good character development. I really liked Mira. Very disappointed that Shakar chose to perpetuate the notion women are attracted to men who stalk them though.
Unfortunately, the novel's entertainment value just wasn't there. It's written in a stream of consciousness way, which at times is rather distracting from what's actually happening in the book. I thought a bit too much emphasis was placed on spirituality, to the point where it felt forced and artificial. A few elements were too far-fetched.
I often found myself wondering where the story was going. It touches on a lot of things as Fred goes about his life, but it never feels like it goes anywhere. Things just seem to happen, ones that aren't particularly interesting either. The length of the book is partly to blame. I'd estimate it's 150,000+ words. With the exception of one plot thread, nothing really happens in the book. Since this is a l-o-n-g book, there's really no excuse. Like a true spiritual journey, it's rather aimless and fairly boring.
In conclusion: deep on intellectual ramblings but not much of a page-turner. The total package of the novel didn't do much to interest me. It was very hard to stick with it because I didn't care what was happening. I would've rather read a non-fiction book on the same subject.
"Eat, Pray, Love" for men. Without the 'eat' and short on the 'love.'
But it's not going to be a good fit for everyone. It's not an easy read, in either the depth of the text or in length. It's not a hard science-fiction novel, but I think it will appeal to the same sort of reader (lots of hard-science concepts and related terminology).
It's difficult to say what this book is about because it's about so many things: the meaning of life, the role of religion, how or if science explains religion, and the metaphysical that can't be explained any other way. "Faith without ignorance." It also explores the FPS/MMO realm via Urth, a virtual reality simulation of the real world, a look at just how real a fake world can get (and therefore become to people).
On the surface, this novel chronicles Fred Brounian's life struggles following the loss of his company and his mysteriously comatose twin-brother. But it also examines the nature of the universe, the nature of reality. It spans many quasi-religious viewpoints over the course of Fred's spiritual discovery, exploring a host of different spiritual/psychological ideologies in subtle ways. Hinduism plays a major role, along with reiki.
On an intellectual level I enjoyed this novel. It reads like a sort of fictional memoir. I enjoyed his sessions in the NYU study. I found the parallels between neuroscience and commonly perceived spiritual experiences very interesting. The mysterious email thread starts off well but goes way too far out on a limb as far as suspension of disbelief goes, which is the case for the last third of the novel.
Good character development. I really liked Mira. Very disappointed that Shakar chose to perpetuate the notion women are attracted to men who stalk them though.
Unfortunately, the novel's entertainment value just wasn't there. It's written in a stream of consciousness way, which at times is rather distracting from what's actually happening in the book. I thought a bit too much emphasis was placed on spirituality, to the point where it felt forced and artificial. A few elements were too far-fetched.
I often found myself wondering where the story was going. It touches on a lot of things as Fred goes about his life, but it never feels like it goes anywhere. Things just seem to happen, ones that aren't particularly interesting either. The length of the book is partly to blame. I'd estimate it's 150,000+ words. With the exception of one plot thread, nothing really happens in the book. Since this is a l-o-n-g book, there's really no excuse. Like a true spiritual journey, it's rather aimless and fairly boring.
In conclusion: deep on intellectual ramblings but not much of a page-turner. The total package of the novel didn't do much to interest me. It was very hard to stick with it because I didn't care what was happening. I would've rather read a non-fiction book on the same subject.
"Eat, Pray, Love" for men. Without the 'eat' and short on the 'love.'
October 31, 2011
I don't have to reiterate the synopsis. The scope of this book is monumental. The conclusion is disharmoniously humble--and not in that apt sort of way. Maybe it wasn't Alex Shakar's objective with Luminarium to precisely reconcile the God Helmet, the world's religions and humanity's ubiquitous quest for spiritual transcendence, but after a hundred or so pages of the protagonist's, Fred Brounian's, despairing solipsistic trudge through New York City I expect a bigger payoff than a Wizard of Oz sort of wake-up where Fred, surrounded by all the friends that helped him along in his adventure, is planted back in reality, transformed though now with the wisdom that enlightenment is not the summit, but merely base camp.
Really I don't want this review to come off as nasty or mean-spirited. The plot and pacing throughout the first say two-thirds of the book was tightly woven and mostly enthralling, with frequent four and five star moments, but that here and there brilliant signal is often lost in the noise. The writing style amounts to something like a subdued cyber punk novel--snappy, terse lists of objects in a room to set the tone for a scene; a short-lived appearance of a character with a soul patch who in lieu of knowing his name is called Soul Patch. Often the descriptions are not so terse; there's a lot of superfluous detail that qualifies for--I don't know what--Fred's heightening powers of observation in his spiritual journey? In a litany of observations while for the subway train, for example, he observes "the gum-blackened platform over which all those spotless, sporty, patent-leather, sneaker-shoe amalgams seemed to hover on sole-shaped beds of air." Is this what constitutes enlightenment? It very well could be. Enlightenment is something personal--not like a social security number is or one's bathroom itinerary--but because it's so subjective it translates poorly and not in any practical way among individuals. In the end Fred's spiritual awakening reads like someone boring their friends with some never-ending goofball dream they had--with plenty of info dumps along the way as well that go something like, "Fred opens a wikipedia article on...and reads about how...then he's on a site reading an article about the Hindu god Shiva..."
Shakar did do an admirable job of rendering the subjective experience of the God Helmet. But the problem with an "it's inconclusive" kind of conclusion with any kind of nascent technology is, of course it's inconclusive. As Clay Shirky says, “Communications tools don't get socially interesting until they get technologically boring.” Let's wait a couple years and reevaluate the God Helmet...at which point the hyper-topical Luminarium will already be obsolete.
Really I don't want this review to come off as nasty or mean-spirited. The plot and pacing throughout the first say two-thirds of the book was tightly woven and mostly enthralling, with frequent four and five star moments, but that here and there brilliant signal is often lost in the noise. The writing style amounts to something like a subdued cyber punk novel--snappy, terse lists of objects in a room to set the tone for a scene; a short-lived appearance of a character with a soul patch who in lieu of knowing his name is called Soul Patch. Often the descriptions are not so terse; there's a lot of superfluous detail that qualifies for--I don't know what--Fred's heightening powers of observation in his spiritual journey? In a litany of observations while for the subway train, for example, he observes "the gum-blackened platform over which all those spotless, sporty, patent-leather, sneaker-shoe amalgams seemed to hover on sole-shaped beds of air." Is this what constitutes enlightenment? It very well could be. Enlightenment is something personal--not like a social security number is or one's bathroom itinerary--but because it's so subjective it translates poorly and not in any practical way among individuals. In the end Fred's spiritual awakening reads like someone boring their friends with some never-ending goofball dream they had--with plenty of info dumps along the way as well that go something like, "Fred opens a wikipedia article on...and reads about how...then he's on a site reading an article about the Hindu god Shiva..."
Shakar did do an admirable job of rendering the subjective experience of the God Helmet. But the problem with an "it's inconclusive" kind of conclusion with any kind of nascent technology is, of course it's inconclusive. As Clay Shirky says, “Communications tools don't get socially interesting until they get technologically boring.” Let's wait a couple years and reevaluate the God Helmet...at which point the hyper-topical Luminarium will already be obsolete.
August 9, 2016
Spiritual thriller promises much but delivers weak emotional punch
With its blend of technology and spirituality, Alex Shakar's latest novel grabbed my attention early. I read as fast as I could while savoring the author's singular metaphors and well-honed style. However, this spiritual novel's muddled ending made me wonder if I'd wolfed it down too quickly and missed the meat of the story.
I loved Shakar's initial premise: Use cutting-edge technology to explore a blend of quantum mechanics, Buddhist and Hindu traditions, reiki, and other spiritual practices to develop spirituality based on "faith without ignorance." To do so, a neurological research scientist stimulates specific regions of Fred's brain to trigger spiritual experiences. Fred studies various spiritual traditions, particularly Hindu mythology, to come to terms with his experiences. Shakar examines each extraordinary event through the lens of both cutting-edge science and spirituality, creating fascinating contrasts and comparisons but rarely any contradictions. Fred eventually lands on the Zen concept of "mu," which he interprets as doubting everything, as a path to enlightenment. He also explores samsara, the concept of existence as a divine, all-encompassing game.
"Luminarium" makes unexpected and compelling connections between a number of fascinating themes - spirituality, computer gaming, quantum theory, Hindu and Buddhist practices, twin experiences, even 9/11 and magic shows. I wanted to love this as a spiritual novel, and mostly I did. Shakar's prose is sleek and polished, studded with arresting metaphors and juxtapositions. The idea that these seemingly unrelated storylines could be woven together into a brilliant tapestry of meaning kept me reading, even when the story began to bog down in Hindu mythology and 9/11 reminiscences.
In the end, however, a clear picture never emerged; the various story threads knotted into a confused snarl of insights that lacked enough context to illuminate me, so to speak. From my limited knowledge of Buddhist practice, I suspect that when Fred retreats into mu meditation he progresses through the traditional stages of Zen enlightenment. Shakar also takes the idea of samsara literally, placing Fred and his twin in a virtual reality game to play out their karmic issues. Perhaps someone with more dharma knowledge could follow all the threads and discover the hidden truths. For me, however, the novel posed too many questions and resolved too few. This spiritual thriller engaged my intellect, but the ending left an emotional void.
For more reviews of spiritual/metaphysical novels, see Fiction For A New Age.
With its blend of technology and spirituality, Alex Shakar's latest novel grabbed my attention early. I read as fast as I could while savoring the author's singular metaphors and well-honed style. However, this spiritual novel's muddled ending made me wonder if I'd wolfed it down too quickly and missed the meat of the story.
I loved Shakar's initial premise: Use cutting-edge technology to explore a blend of quantum mechanics, Buddhist and Hindu traditions, reiki, and other spiritual practices to develop spirituality based on "faith without ignorance." To do so, a neurological research scientist stimulates specific regions of Fred's brain to trigger spiritual experiences. Fred studies various spiritual traditions, particularly Hindu mythology, to come to terms with his experiences. Shakar examines each extraordinary event through the lens of both cutting-edge science and spirituality, creating fascinating contrasts and comparisons but rarely any contradictions. Fred eventually lands on the Zen concept of "mu," which he interprets as doubting everything, as a path to enlightenment. He also explores samsara, the concept of existence as a divine, all-encompassing game.
"Luminarium" makes unexpected and compelling connections between a number of fascinating themes - spirituality, computer gaming, quantum theory, Hindu and Buddhist practices, twin experiences, even 9/11 and magic shows. I wanted to love this as a spiritual novel, and mostly I did. Shakar's prose is sleek and polished, studded with arresting metaphors and juxtapositions. The idea that these seemingly unrelated storylines could be woven together into a brilliant tapestry of meaning kept me reading, even when the story began to bog down in Hindu mythology and 9/11 reminiscences.
In the end, however, a clear picture never emerged; the various story threads knotted into a confused snarl of insights that lacked enough context to illuminate me, so to speak. From my limited knowledge of Buddhist practice, I suspect that when Fred retreats into mu meditation he progresses through the traditional stages of Zen enlightenment. Shakar also takes the idea of samsara literally, placing Fred and his twin in a virtual reality game to play out their karmic issues. Perhaps someone with more dharma knowledge could follow all the threads and discover the hidden truths. For me, however, the novel posed too many questions and resolved too few. This spiritual thriller engaged my intellect, but the ending left an emotional void.
For more reviews of spiritual/metaphysical novels, see Fiction For A New Age.
October 19, 2012
Absolutely fantastic!!! This book weaves together a tapestry of compelling themes facing my generation (mid 30 somethings) in an America still reeling from the aftereffects of the stock market crash, our continued "war" in the middle east, and the technology bubble bursting amidst constant technological advancement/improvement. The narrator and main character is trying to deal with a complete crisis as his twin brother is in a prolonged coma from end stage cancer; the company they started together (a SIMS/HALO type virtual reality video game of sorts) has been bought out and totally reappropriated by the military entertainment complex, for use simulating disasters such as terrorist bombing & nuclear war in major US cities, and battle training modules in the middle east. I know this doesnt sound exciting or funny, but the book is written with a wry, endearing humor; even as the main character endures failure & major life challenges at every turn. The peripheral figures in the book are finely drawn, realistic, and also dealing with their own issues. There is a love interest in the form of the neuropsychologist who is conducting a study (for which our narrator has volunteered) whereby she stimulates different areas of the brain in order to induce near death experiences of angels, or benevolent presences, and positively impact the lives of the patients. Whether this is successful or just artificial remains to be discovered as the book continues. The major complication is that Fred, the narrator, begins receiving cryptic, mysterious, and uncannily personal emails, texts, and other communiques from his twin brother who is still in the hospital in a coma from which he hasnt awoken in over 6 months. He embarks on a spiritual journey of self discover as a doubter who cannot buy any of the prevailing religious myths on offer; or quite determine the scientific merit of competing fringe theories in physics, neuroscience, psychology, or biology. His POV is totally consistent with the loss of faith most of us in this modern world struggle with, and yet the reader is never stiff armed into any particular world view or belief; it remains up to the reader the whole time to ponder his/her own opinions/beliefs on these incredibly provacative issues of what it is to be a person, in this world, in this universe, at this time. One of the best books Ive read all year. Dont be put off by the seemingly depressing or overly scientific subjects, it is moving and you will find yourself confronting lots of common themes in a gentle and open ended way that is never preachy or even trying to argue for or against anything.
August 8, 2013
I had high hopes for this book. Unfortunately it was a chore to read. Rather than being too shallow in it's treatment of death, philosophy and modern computer technology, it was 'way too deep. All the various threads of the plot fought against each other. At one minute you were watching Fred's life unravel while his twin brother, George, lies in a coma. The next minute you were dealing with East Asian religious beliefs, Reiki faith healing and the possibility of virtual reality being actual reality.
Fred and George had a company built around a virtual computer world called Urth. George is diagnosed with cancer and Fred loses the company to a military conglomerate, with which his younger brother, Sam, seems all to eager to work. Enter Mira, who offers Fred a more spiritual existence via an electronic brain manipulation study. Add in text and e-mail messages that appear to come from comatose and immobile Gred and younger brother Sam's plans to move to Florida with the Urth project and you see what I mean. It's a very foggy plot.
The ending, by the time you manage to make it through the nearly 500 pages of this novel, is clever but one you really should have seen coming. Some of the characters are just plain ridiculous. Do we really need the magic shows for parties that Fred's washed-up-actor father, Vartan puts on with Fred's help as a commentary on unreality? Do we really need head-in-the-spirit-clouds Holly who things Reiki will cure her comatose son as well as the chaos she 'senses' all around Brooklyn? It's all a bit much.
There were some genuinely priceless moments in this book, which save it from getting a one star review from me. Fred and his 'inner George' hold some hilarious inner conversations. And the mysterious Mira is fascinatingly shadowy. Even the self-important (and self-delusional) family friend, Manfred, is a welcome comic relief. I would have been happier if the author had focused on the virtual reality element and the issue of what's there after death, rather than all the 'side-trips' he took, probably in the hope that density equals depth and confusing misdirection equals interesting reading. Unfortunately, it doesn't. Disappointing overall.
Fred and George had a company built around a virtual computer world called Urth. George is diagnosed with cancer and Fred loses the company to a military conglomerate, with which his younger brother, Sam, seems all to eager to work. Enter Mira, who offers Fred a more spiritual existence via an electronic brain manipulation study. Add in text and e-mail messages that appear to come from comatose and immobile Gred and younger brother Sam's plans to move to Florida with the Urth project and you see what I mean. It's a very foggy plot.
The ending, by the time you manage to make it through the nearly 500 pages of this novel, is clever but one you really should have seen coming. Some of the characters are just plain ridiculous. Do we really need the magic shows for parties that Fred's washed-up-actor father, Vartan puts on with Fred's help as a commentary on unreality? Do we really need head-in-the-spirit-clouds Holly who things Reiki will cure her comatose son as well as the chaos she 'senses' all around Brooklyn? It's all a bit much.
There were some genuinely priceless moments in this book, which save it from getting a one star review from me. Fred and his 'inner George' hold some hilarious inner conversations. And the mysterious Mira is fascinatingly shadowy. Even the self-important (and self-delusional) family friend, Manfred, is a welcome comic relief. I would have been happier if the author had focused on the virtual reality element and the issue of what's there after death, rather than all the 'side-trips' he took, probably in the hope that density equals depth and confusing misdirection equals interesting reading. Unfortunately, it doesn't. Disappointing overall.
August 11, 2013
(Sometime in July) I'm doing everything I can to avoid reading this book. I sort of want to know what happens with George and with the Mira experiment but not enough to keep reading. It's an odd book.
08/11/13 -- I ditched it formally added it to my discard list and carried on, but I kept thinking about it and wondering what he was going to do with it all so I picked it up again and finished it.
Mike, a reviewer I follow sum's up much of my frustration with the book when he points out that the narrative is "sometimes (maybe a few too many times) bogged down by the weight of sweeping thematic concerns which put a drag on forward motion and I'd go with "few too many times." Enough already. But, there is much that is interesting and smart and committed to make it worth the time. And there is a "dinner" scene between Fred and Holly and Vartan near the end of the book that is really quite oddly spectacular. In fact, Holly and Vartan, with the Reiki and the magic tricks, and their crappy apartment were some of the strongest writing in the novel.
If I were going to make up an odd shelf -- self, self-immolation and 9/11 -- I'd put it there with James Hynes book Next, but Luminarium is a kinder book and Fred although as self-involved as Kevin Quinn has better reasons.
08/11/13 -- I ditched it formally added it to my discard list and carried on, but I kept thinking about it and wondering what he was going to do with it all so I picked it up again and finished it.
Mike, a reviewer I follow sum's up much of my frustration with the book when he points out that the narrative is "sometimes (maybe a few too many times) bogged down by the weight of sweeping thematic concerns which put a drag on forward motion and I'd go with "few too many times." Enough already. But, there is much that is interesting and smart and committed to make it worth the time. And there is a "dinner" scene between Fred and Holly and Vartan near the end of the book that is really quite oddly spectacular. In fact, Holly and Vartan, with the Reiki and the magic tricks, and their crappy apartment were some of the strongest writing in the novel.
If I were going to make up an odd shelf -- self, self-immolation and 9/11 -- I'd put it there with James Hynes book Next, but Luminarium is a kinder book and Fred although as self-involved as Kevin Quinn has better reasons.
August 11, 2011
I got into the main character of this novel to a substantially greater than normal. It almost felt like Fred was the avatar that I was projecting into Shakar's world. As a result, it felt like I was feeling through Fred, that I was experiencing through him. Wrapped up in the strange combination of enlightenment, mystery, and human change, I felt like I was personally experiencing it all instead of just reading about it. My heartbeat is still racing. I get engaged in a lot of what I read, but it is a rare author who has this kind of power to pull me in. I'm only glad Shakar didn't misuse it.
February 12, 2016
Had to give up on this one. But, even if I did make it beyond the 215 page half-way mark, and no matter how glowing the review by Kirkus and the Washington Post was, I'm pretty certain it would still have only squeezed 2 disappointed stars out of me. Let's just say, I'm at that point in my earthly trajectory, when life's too short to waste it on a novel whose characters felt cartoony -- and whose discombobulated storyline was not discombobulating enough. Luminarium, in other words, was hardly illuminating.
August 12, 2012
One of the best books I have ever read. It is about loss, the meaning of life, and self discovery. Hilarious in spots, deeply emotional in others. Mind=Blown.
August 10, 2016
Interesting idea, wandering narrative but I felt the characters were a little lackluster. A good story and unique in some ways though.
August 18, 2024
This one just didn’t work for me.
I love the premise, even as I have finished it, so I wonder whether I might have missed some crucial elements – and there are a lot of elements here.
Our protagonist, Fred, is mourning the almost-death of his identical twin brother (who’s in a coma and showing almost no brain activity). He’s lost control of the computer-simulation company the two of them built, and he’s nearly bankrupt from paying so much for George’s care.
While he’s in the hospital he encounters a woman who runs a research project in which participants put on a helmet that alters brain activity. As a result, participants lose a sense of the boundary between themselves and the world.
Those elements – just those – are compelling. As Fred participates in his company’s simulation, he keeps encountering George among various glitches. He can’t be sure whether his brother is really dead, whether he is (as his surviving twin) embodying his brother, whether his brother someone ‘lives’ in the computer simulation, or whether they’re experiencing a spirituality that answers the hunger of all of us seeking ultimate meaning.
That’s a lot of ambition, and it’s bewildering to keep in focus. Shakar’s not a great writer – we get a lot of exposition early, and his sentences often weigh down the narrative with verbs-of-being and delayed subjects.
But what really distracts me is that Shakar keeps adding to the mix. There’s a thread about 9/11 – the woman from the program, who becomes his lover (or doesn’t since she feels he’s manipulating her, though maybe it’s George, and maybe I just missed something crucial to understanding it all), has lost her husband to the attack. We go long stretches without hearing anything on that theme, and then (not a spoiler) we get a late-chapter extended meditation on it – complete with a call to assess George W. Bush’s responsibility for the attack.
We get a thread about Fred’s father, a one-time semi-successful actor turned birthday-party magician. Fred and his father perform their illusions – a potentially striking notion in a novel where we’re reminded how we might distrust the evidence of our senses – but nothing seems to come of it. There is a charming scene where Fred performs for his hoped-for girlfriend, but it doesn’t seem to add much to the themes of the book.
And there’s a thread about an app that Fred has invented that uses computers to pray on your behalf, one that renders good wishes in over a trillion iterations.
And I am probably missing another few elements that Shakar adds to the mix.
With that promising premise lies a compelling question: how do we find meaning in a world where our experience through computers is becoming increasingly realistic – increasingly the place where the real of our life can take place.
I’m not sure that Shakar has an answer, though. Just as bad, I’m not sure he’s found a consistent way to frame the question. Instead, the novel seems to reset itself time after time.
I thought this might be in the vein of Neal Stephenson, but it doesn’t reach that level. I admire its ambition, but – and I hope it’s just that I missed some parts that tie it all together – I found myself slogging through it in hopes of a resolution that would unite its separate elements.
For me at least, that never came.
I love the premise, even as I have finished it, so I wonder whether I might have missed some crucial elements – and there are a lot of elements here.
Our protagonist, Fred, is mourning the almost-death of his identical twin brother (who’s in a coma and showing almost no brain activity). He’s lost control of the computer-simulation company the two of them built, and he’s nearly bankrupt from paying so much for George’s care.
While he’s in the hospital he encounters a woman who runs a research project in which participants put on a helmet that alters brain activity. As a result, participants lose a sense of the boundary between themselves and the world.
Those elements – just those – are compelling. As Fred participates in his company’s simulation, he keeps encountering George among various glitches. He can’t be sure whether his brother is really dead, whether he is (as his surviving twin) embodying his brother, whether his brother someone ‘lives’ in the computer simulation, or whether they’re experiencing a spirituality that answers the hunger of all of us seeking ultimate meaning.
That’s a lot of ambition, and it’s bewildering to keep in focus. Shakar’s not a great writer – we get a lot of exposition early, and his sentences often weigh down the narrative with verbs-of-being and delayed subjects.
But what really distracts me is that Shakar keeps adding to the mix. There’s a thread about 9/11 – the woman from the program, who becomes his lover (or doesn’t since she feels he’s manipulating her, though maybe it’s George, and maybe I just missed something crucial to understanding it all), has lost her husband to the attack. We go long stretches without hearing anything on that theme, and then (not a spoiler) we get a late-chapter extended meditation on it – complete with a call to assess George W. Bush’s responsibility for the attack.
We get a thread about Fred’s father, a one-time semi-successful actor turned birthday-party magician. Fred and his father perform their illusions – a potentially striking notion in a novel where we’re reminded how we might distrust the evidence of our senses – but nothing seems to come of it. There is a charming scene where Fred performs for his hoped-for girlfriend, but it doesn’t seem to add much to the themes of the book.
And there’s a thread about an app that Fred has invented that uses computers to pray on your behalf, one that renders good wishes in over a trillion iterations.
And I am probably missing another few elements that Shakar adds to the mix.
With that promising premise lies a compelling question: how do we find meaning in a world where our experience through computers is becoming increasingly realistic – increasingly the place where the real of our life can take place.
I’m not sure that Shakar has an answer, though. Just as bad, I’m not sure he’s found a consistent way to frame the question. Instead, the novel seems to reset itself time after time.
I thought this might be in the vein of Neal Stephenson, but it doesn’t reach that level. I admire its ambition, but – and I hope it’s just that I missed some parts that tie it all together – I found myself slogging through it in hopes of a resolution that would unite its separate elements.
For me at least, that never came.
October 19, 2012
Spoiler Alert!
LUMINARIUM: There’s nothing like a brain.
In commenting on the solar system family photo taken by Voyager 1, Carl Sagan referred to the “blue dot” as home to every human who has ever lived. Now, we’re looking at potential lots on Mars, and using real cash for virtual reality property. LUMINARIUM explores computer generated virtual reality as well as the different realities created by the brain itself.
LUMINARIUM is the second novel by Alex Shakar. His first novel, THE SAVAGE GIRL, a fantasy about Pop Culture, was a New York Times Notable Book.
LUMINARIUM begins in the New York of August 2006. Protagonist Fred Brounian sits in a black vinyl recliner as someone attaches wires to a helmet that he’s wearing. Fred is a paid lab rat, part of an experiment by neuro-scientists at NYU. Several sessions have him wearing the helmet. Each session will stimulate a different part of his brain. The aim, the attractive researcher explains, is for Fred to experience an after-death “Rapture,” without the death part. The goal is to induce the “God” experience, freeing the subject from the “ignorance” of faith.
Fred, a thirty-something software designer, needs the money. Fred is paying for the hospital care of his identical twin brother and business partner George.
George, whose cancer has nearly consumed him, has been in a coma for months. George and Fred were CEO partners of a software company whose virtual reality program “Urth” “an anime style world of pastoral villages and underwater bubble towns…” should have made them rich. A “best laid plan,” it fell apart when 911 happened. Slick operators stole the company. Quirky little Urth now belongs to Armation, a military enterprise in Florida, where “a ready pool of Disney Imagineers, Pixar animators, and Electronic Arts programmers” convert Urth into a military simulations program. George had wanted to start over and create a game of “spiritual evolution.” Fred accused him of thinking “reality was up for grabs.”
Sam, George and Fred’s younger brother, is an executive in the new Armation order. Sam is helping the move to Florida, and suggested that Urth software would be useful in simulating urban disaster search and rescue. Sam’s need for control is right out of the Steve Jobs playbook. His social skills make Jobs look like Bill Clinton.
There have been glitches in the new search and rescue program, and a suggestion of sabotage. Fred is the most likely suspect. There were hard feelings, but Fred needs his old job back. Fred’s first lab rat session results in a hyper-awareness that causes him to shadow an old woman in pin-curls, who meanders into a store and shoplifts. This results in his arrest for shoplifting tweezers. That’s right, tweezers. In addition, Fred receives emails from comatose George, a situation that threatens his already tentative hold on reality. As Fred struggles to regain stability in his life, the disorientation caused by the lab experiments, and more messages from George result in him questioning his sanity. He wonders if someone is playing a cruel joke.
Fred is surrounded by illusion and mysticism. His father is an actor and magician. Fred’s mother practices Reiki, a Japanese brand of energy healing. Mom believes that George emanates a healing energy from his hospital bed. As Fred tries to make sense of his expanded senses, the product, we assume, of the lab experiments, we, along with Fred, have difficulty sorting out reality. Shakar’s use of stream-of-consciousness in these sequences reminded me of the movie Altered States with a swirl (the old woman’s pin curls, “this infinite pinwheel of shit,” “The spiral had twisted shut again…”) of the senses that blurs the lines between different realities.
The cryptic emails from George contain the word “avatara.” Researching Hinduism, Fred discovers identical twin avataras, Nara and Narayana, who represent the human and the divine. The concept of “duality” is used throughout the novel. Fred clings to his identical twin. He reads stories to George about simultaneous twin occurrences, which “according to Carl Jung are …the dual manifestation of a single collective unconscious.” Fred questions how he could “stand the two-sided coin on edge“– experiencing the divine, the supernatural, knowing that he would never be able to verify. He wonders if existence is the result of some cosmic plan. Is everything random?
Under all of this searching for alternate realities and the exploration of religions is the fear of death. Calendar pages mark dates leading to the fifth anniversary of the loss of the Trade Center Twin Towers. The enormity of this event permeates LUMINARIUM. Fred contemplates death, but can’t imagine not being somewhere. New York copes, but is forever changed. Fred faces a future where he is no longer a twin.
Creating different realities is a way of coming to terms with death. Besides the programs of various virtual worlds, Shakar takes us to a Florida mini-golf course , which is a virtual world modeled on pre-911 New York. Armation Florida employees live in the planned community “Celebration,” designed for controlled reality. Pre-fab reality is predictable and as safe as the womb. Sam yearns for it; Fred is both attracted and repelled.
George coins the word “holomelancholia…the inevitable disappointment of virtual worlds.” This concept fascinates me. I wrote my second book (currently in revisions) in response to Kurzweil’s prediction of the utopias that await us via mind-uploading. In Bali Hai, the “post-biological destination” setting of my novel Babylon Dreams, everything is perfect but the past. Through mind-uploading, we can escape death, but we can’t escape ourselves. Our bodies wear out, but can the human spirit live on indefinitely? One thing that makes life worth living is the luck of the draw, the chance that dreams can be realized or taken away. As Eric Packer, the protagonist of Cosmopolis (see my August 27, 2012 film review) did, I think eventually, we would all choose the “void.”
In his letter to readers, Shakar puts it this way: “How do we deal with a changed world, with a universe that one day seemed with us and the next seems to turn against us and oppose us at every turn?”
LUMINARIUM is the third literary novel that I have reviewed at length on my blog. It is the first that I totally recommend. The stream of consciousness style is dense. The long paragraphs were a challenge to my short-attention span, but I kept on reading. There were a few places where I felt he was doing a research paper rather than telling a story, but not too many to lose my interest in what happens to Fred. In his comments on LUMINARIUM in the New York Times Sunday Book Review (September 2, 2011), Christopher R. Beha remarks, “This premise, however ingenious, might have yielded a schematic novel of ideas, if Shakar weren’t so committed to showing his readers a good time.” I feel that Shakar’s respect for his readers is reflected in this commitment to “show us a good time.” Shakar gives us a complete, heartfelt story. Telling a story well and entertaining readers should not be limited to genre writers. Along the way, Shakar looks for answers, but doesn’t claim success.
If mind-uploading happens before I face whatever waits on the other side of that coin, I would like to float around in a place like Shakar’s “Urth,” especially in one of those underwater bubble towns. Maybe I’ll find Ringo’s Octopus’ Garden.
LUMINARIUM: There’s nothing like a brain.
In commenting on the solar system family photo taken by Voyager 1, Carl Sagan referred to the “blue dot” as home to every human who has ever lived. Now, we’re looking at potential lots on Mars, and using real cash for virtual reality property. LUMINARIUM explores computer generated virtual reality as well as the different realities created by the brain itself.
LUMINARIUM is the second novel by Alex Shakar. His first novel, THE SAVAGE GIRL, a fantasy about Pop Culture, was a New York Times Notable Book.
LUMINARIUM begins in the New York of August 2006. Protagonist Fred Brounian sits in a black vinyl recliner as someone attaches wires to a helmet that he’s wearing. Fred is a paid lab rat, part of an experiment by neuro-scientists at NYU. Several sessions have him wearing the helmet. Each session will stimulate a different part of his brain. The aim, the attractive researcher explains, is for Fred to experience an after-death “Rapture,” without the death part. The goal is to induce the “God” experience, freeing the subject from the “ignorance” of faith.
Fred, a thirty-something software designer, needs the money. Fred is paying for the hospital care of his identical twin brother and business partner George.
George, whose cancer has nearly consumed him, has been in a coma for months. George and Fred were CEO partners of a software company whose virtual reality program “Urth” “an anime style world of pastoral villages and underwater bubble towns…” should have made them rich. A “best laid plan,” it fell apart when 911 happened. Slick operators stole the company. Quirky little Urth now belongs to Armation, a military enterprise in Florida, where “a ready pool of Disney Imagineers, Pixar animators, and Electronic Arts programmers” convert Urth into a military simulations program. George had wanted to start over and create a game of “spiritual evolution.” Fred accused him of thinking “reality was up for grabs.”
Sam, George and Fred’s younger brother, is an executive in the new Armation order. Sam is helping the move to Florida, and suggested that Urth software would be useful in simulating urban disaster search and rescue. Sam’s need for control is right out of the Steve Jobs playbook. His social skills make Jobs look like Bill Clinton.
There have been glitches in the new search and rescue program, and a suggestion of sabotage. Fred is the most likely suspect. There were hard feelings, but Fred needs his old job back. Fred’s first lab rat session results in a hyper-awareness that causes him to shadow an old woman in pin-curls, who meanders into a store and shoplifts. This results in his arrest for shoplifting tweezers. That’s right, tweezers. In addition, Fred receives emails from comatose George, a situation that threatens his already tentative hold on reality. As Fred struggles to regain stability in his life, the disorientation caused by the lab experiments, and more messages from George result in him questioning his sanity. He wonders if someone is playing a cruel joke.
Fred is surrounded by illusion and mysticism. His father is an actor and magician. Fred’s mother practices Reiki, a Japanese brand of energy healing. Mom believes that George emanates a healing energy from his hospital bed. As Fred tries to make sense of his expanded senses, the product, we assume, of the lab experiments, we, along with Fred, have difficulty sorting out reality. Shakar’s use of stream-of-consciousness in these sequences reminded me of the movie Altered States with a swirl (the old woman’s pin curls, “this infinite pinwheel of shit,” “The spiral had twisted shut again…”) of the senses that blurs the lines between different realities.
The cryptic emails from George contain the word “avatara.” Researching Hinduism, Fred discovers identical twin avataras, Nara and Narayana, who represent the human and the divine. The concept of “duality” is used throughout the novel. Fred clings to his identical twin. He reads stories to George about simultaneous twin occurrences, which “according to Carl Jung are …the dual manifestation of a single collective unconscious.” Fred questions how he could “stand the two-sided coin on edge“– experiencing the divine, the supernatural, knowing that he would never be able to verify. He wonders if existence is the result of some cosmic plan. Is everything random?
Under all of this searching for alternate realities and the exploration of religions is the fear of death. Calendar pages mark dates leading to the fifth anniversary of the loss of the Trade Center Twin Towers. The enormity of this event permeates LUMINARIUM. Fred contemplates death, but can’t imagine not being somewhere. New York copes, but is forever changed. Fred faces a future where he is no longer a twin.
Creating different realities is a way of coming to terms with death. Besides the programs of various virtual worlds, Shakar takes us to a Florida mini-golf course , which is a virtual world modeled on pre-911 New York. Armation Florida employees live in the planned community “Celebration,” designed for controlled reality. Pre-fab reality is predictable and as safe as the womb. Sam yearns for it; Fred is both attracted and repelled.
George coins the word “holomelancholia…the inevitable disappointment of virtual worlds.” This concept fascinates me. I wrote my second book (currently in revisions) in response to Kurzweil’s prediction of the utopias that await us via mind-uploading. In Bali Hai, the “post-biological destination” setting of my novel Babylon Dreams, everything is perfect but the past. Through mind-uploading, we can escape death, but we can’t escape ourselves. Our bodies wear out, but can the human spirit live on indefinitely? One thing that makes life worth living is the luck of the draw, the chance that dreams can be realized or taken away. As Eric Packer, the protagonist of Cosmopolis (see my August 27, 2012 film review) did, I think eventually, we would all choose the “void.”
In his letter to readers, Shakar puts it this way: “How do we deal with a changed world, with a universe that one day seemed with us and the next seems to turn against us and oppose us at every turn?”
LUMINARIUM is the third literary novel that I have reviewed at length on my blog. It is the first that I totally recommend. The stream of consciousness style is dense. The long paragraphs were a challenge to my short-attention span, but I kept on reading. There were a few places where I felt he was doing a research paper rather than telling a story, but not too many to lose my interest in what happens to Fred. In his comments on LUMINARIUM in the New York Times Sunday Book Review (September 2, 2011), Christopher R. Beha remarks, “This premise, however ingenious, might have yielded a schematic novel of ideas, if Shakar weren’t so committed to showing his readers a good time.” I feel that Shakar’s respect for his readers is reflected in this commitment to “show us a good time.” Shakar gives us a complete, heartfelt story. Telling a story well and entertaining readers should not be limited to genre writers. Along the way, Shakar looks for answers, but doesn’t claim success.
If mind-uploading happens before I face whatever waits on the other side of that coin, I would like to float around in a place like Shakar’s “Urth,” especially in one of those underwater bubble towns. Maybe I’ll find Ringo’s Octopus’ Garden.
January 15, 2018
two-eleven pee em, afternoon of the 15th of january 2018, monday...winter, lots of snow outside, 30+ inches on the ground, close to 200" for the year, and no plow went by today though i did go and scrape several driveways...three, left it piled there at the side, blow it up on the bank later.
good read, kindle, library copy, i really liked it, four stars. has a sci-fi vibe if you're in the mood though it is not, quite, sci-fi. and it has a curious mix of ideas that i've been grouping onto shelves, time passages which as you know is the title of al stewart's song, and it somewhat describes what i find from time-to-time in fiction, imagining. a character imagining things. in this one it takes the form of computer programmers, worker-bees, in simulated situations. the military-entertainment complex. cute. and a tad more, too....
...like another idea herein is this father and daughter researching...stuff...what? dunno exactly, wasn't paying close attention...faith...of the absence of faith...or the...something. i'm a slow learner. and i didn't take notes. anyway, the time passages here, too, as they plug in research volunteers to their helmet-thingy, and...away, we....go, as jackie used to proclaim. it's just a game that you play.
too, the-mark-of-zero, another idea here, my words, the idea related to the aforementioned things. would havta look at the other titles on the shelf to catch the drift, although, somewhat defined as...ummmm...just thought of some other titles...erasure...non-existence, no faith, or how was it expressed herein?
so there's several of these ideas at play...too, reikki...is that some sort of japanese healing system? all part and parcel of the whole project here...and hindu mythology...same lines or parallel lines...or converging lines.
too...the three brothers, george, in a coma and cancerous, fred, our hero, for the most...and younger brother sam...they created a company that simulates things, computers...right around the time of 9/11, if i have those cards right...and there's a use for simulation...
anyway...rough-draft of some of the ideas herein...enjoyed the story. end wasn't as gratifying as i'd have liked, but what say?
good read, kindle, library copy, i really liked it, four stars. has a sci-fi vibe if you're in the mood though it is not, quite, sci-fi. and it has a curious mix of ideas that i've been grouping onto shelves, time passages which as you know is the title of al stewart's song, and it somewhat describes what i find from time-to-time in fiction, imagining. a character imagining things. in this one it takes the form of computer programmers, worker-bees, in simulated situations. the military-entertainment complex. cute. and a tad more, too....
...like another idea herein is this father and daughter researching...stuff...what? dunno exactly, wasn't paying close attention...faith...of the absence of faith...or the...something. i'm a slow learner. and i didn't take notes. anyway, the time passages here, too, as they plug in research volunteers to their helmet-thingy, and...away, we....go, as jackie used to proclaim. it's just a game that you play.
too, the-mark-of-zero, another idea here, my words, the idea related to the aforementioned things. would havta look at the other titles on the shelf to catch the drift, although, somewhat defined as...ummmm...just thought of some other titles...erasure...non-existence, no faith, or how was it expressed herein?
so there's several of these ideas at play...too, reikki...is that some sort of japanese healing system? all part and parcel of the whole project here...and hindu mythology...same lines or parallel lines...or converging lines.
too...the three brothers, george, in a coma and cancerous, fred, our hero, for the most...and younger brother sam...they created a company that simulates things, computers...right around the time of 9/11, if i have those cards right...and there's a use for simulation...
anyway...rough-draft of some of the ideas herein...enjoyed the story. end wasn't as gratifying as i'd have liked, but what say?
October 11, 2023
“Let go [...] before you lose even more.”
—Alex Shakar, Luminarium
Never in my wild foray and obvious prospects (like the works of Neal Stephenson) I would find, eventually finished, a Kantian novel. Kantian, in a sense Shakarʼs novel resonates with Kantʼs critical stand, that the mind sets the world in space, time, with a coherence reconstructed conceptually that paves way in the formulation of the universal laws (pardon me though, for this is but a dismal summary of Kantʼs philosophy; but one of its points is that—it counters Lockeʼs philosophy which first endorsed the mind is a “tabula rasa” or a blank space). Luminarium can also be Schopenhaurian, because of its bleak urbanism and Buddhist episodes of the characters; after all, Schopenhauerʼs philosophy is an adaptation of Kantʼs, with the exception of methodological differences; Schopenhauerʼs original pessimism, of course; and his heavy borrowings from Buddhism.
This novel intersects between neuroscience and the human condition (within the duration of the 9/11 bombing), between the real and the unreal (or “virtual,” to use a more 21st century-oriented term), recalling the lecture of Nobel Laureate John OʼKeefe, that is Kant is the pioneer of neuroscience. Regardless of all these neurophilosophizing and some postmodernist mishaps often encountered in reading American literature, the novel reaches the unreal while it never—to use Ron Charlesʼ term—“dematerializes.”
—Alex Shakar, Luminarium
Never in my wild foray and obvious prospects (like the works of Neal Stephenson) I would find, eventually finished, a Kantian novel. Kantian, in a sense Shakarʼs novel resonates with Kantʼs critical stand, that the mind sets the world in space, time, with a coherence reconstructed conceptually that paves way in the formulation of the universal laws (pardon me though, for this is but a dismal summary of Kantʼs philosophy; but one of its points is that—it counters Lockeʼs philosophy which first endorsed the mind is a “tabula rasa” or a blank space). Luminarium can also be Schopenhaurian, because of its bleak urbanism and Buddhist episodes of the characters; after all, Schopenhauerʼs philosophy is an adaptation of Kantʼs, with the exception of methodological differences; Schopenhauerʼs original pessimism, of course; and his heavy borrowings from Buddhism.
This novel intersects between neuroscience and the human condition (within the duration of the 9/11 bombing), between the real and the unreal (or “virtual,” to use a more 21st century-oriented term), recalling the lecture of Nobel Laureate John OʼKeefe, that is Kant is the pioneer of neuroscience. Regardless of all these neurophilosophizing and some postmodernist mishaps often encountered in reading American literature, the novel reaches the unreal while it never—to use Ron Charlesʼ term—“dematerializes.”
February 18, 2022
I have had this on my shelf for 10 years or more, so I'm glad to finally have finished it. I will admit that my lukewarm response is partially my own fault- for some reason I thought this was going to be more sci-fi than it turned out to be. It was long and overwritten, and I should have DNF'd it when I had the inclination ~65 pages in. Nothing really changed from there. That being said it wasn't terrible, it was just kind of forgettable. Also if you want to know how future readers are going to feel reading books set during covid, I suggest reading a book like this that is so centered on 9/11 and the dot com crash of the late 90s (by the way this was published in 2011).
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